


Somnus

by Whisp



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Format, M/M, Mostly Fluff, With a smallest hint of angst, remix fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisp/pseuds/Whisp
Summary: Clint loves sleep, but it doesn’t always love him back.





	Somnus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [florahart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Five Things that Don't Help Clint Sleep (at Least in Isolation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9583556) by [florahart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/florahart). 



> Five times Clint wants to sleep but can't, and the one time he can but doesn't want to.
> 
> A remix for the lovely Florahart. I took her fic, used the same 5+1 format and many of the same elements, but flip the sleep concept around, hopefully showing that the more things change, the more they remain the same.

1\. 2002

When Shield finally catches up with Clint, he hasn't slept more than 20 minutes at a time for over a week. 

The agent after him is relentless. Clint’s only caught a few glimpses of him from afar. He looks like a typical suit, but he’s the best tracker Clint’s come across yet and he’s possibly some kind of mind-reader. He’s been less than a day behind Clint, sometimes only a few hours, ever since he left New York. 

At a motel rooftop in Tulsa, Clint finally gets cornered. He has the choice between the SWAT team on the parking lot below him or the team of agents currently spilling out of the rooftop access. 

It’s almost a relief. He turned twenty last week, but feels like he’s been running for twice that. At least now he can finally sleep and leave this bone deep exhaustion behind, even if the only way to get it would be sitting in a cell for the rest of his life. Or possibly eating a bullet at the hands of the agent walking towards him. 

Clint’s half expecting the bullet, so when the offer comes instead it leaves him completely off guard. 

By the time the agent gets him into the Quinjet, Clint’s almost swaying off his feet, but he won’t fall asleep, not yet. Not until he figures out what game they’re playing.

So he sits head leaned up against the vibrating hull, eyes half-lidded but refusing to close all the way, and his mind racing, staring at this man who stepped in front of his arrow and told him there was another way.

 

2\. 2003

A year almost to the day he was recruited, Clint wrenches himself out of a nightmare with a gasp. It takes him a minute to reorient himself. By the sliver of light under the door, he can make out his desk and closet across the room. The pile of clothes stacked on his chair. His water bottle on the bedside table. 

Even as he shakes the last dredges of the nightmare from his mind, Clint knows he won’t be going back to sleep tonight. He doesn't want to risk a repeat. 

Clint kicks his damp sheets to the foot of his bed and shoulders his bow. 

The best thing about living at Shield HQ is that Clint has the range practically next door and his passcode works at all hours of the night. Well, really the best thing is the fact that he’s no longer on the run and staying at every sleazy pay by the hour hotel he can find, but the range is totally a close second. When he has nights like these, it’s the best place he can be. And in the middle of the night, he can experiment around without ruining his carefully built reputation. 

To Clint’s surprise, he’s not alone tonight.

Coulson is at the range when he gets there, ear protection on and rhythmically firing into the furthest target. In the year since he’d recruited Clint, Clint hasn’t seen much of him. Not at all for those first few months and then only a handful of time since and usually on the larger missions. 

They fall into a rhythm easily, Clint timing his rounds to match Coulson’s so when he reloads, Clint is clear to retrieve his arrows.

In between rounds, Clint sneaks a look over. The shadows under Coulson’s eyes tell Clint that he might not be the only one chasing away monsters tonight. 

Impulsively, Clint uses his arrows to draw a smiley face into his target, complete with tongue sticking out. He’s rewarded for his efforts with the first smile he’s ever seen on Coulson’s face. It’s enough that Clint can almost forget about how tired he is. 

By the time other agents start arriving in the early hours of the morning, Clint’s arms are aching and sore. He imagine’s Coulson’s aren’t much better, but he can see that the tension in his shoulders is less and Clint himself has chased away another dream-filled night, so he counts it as a win. 

 

3\. 2007

“Talk to me.” 

Clint grins as his favourite handler’s voice comes over the line. “You sleeping, Sir?”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Yeah, but you don't sound like you were sleeping, so you can't be mad because I didn't wake you.”

Coulson hums, “Not angry, just sincerely regretting giving you this number.”

“Too late to take it back now, Sir.” Clint replies cheerfully.

Coulson sighs, “Why are you calling me at three in the morning Clint?” Barton had turned into Clint about three years after Coulson became his primary handler, but it still thrills Clint everytime he hears it. He’s developed a bit of a soft spot for his handler, not that he'll ever tell anyone this. 

“I needed to call you because I think I’ll blow this mission otherwise.” Clint says. 

Coulson’s voice immediately sharpened. “What’s happening? Where’s Henderson?”

“Probably in the van sleeping.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well I can't blame him. I’m about to fall asleep watching this guy. I’m watching paint dry, Sir. Like literally watching paint dry. The mark just finished his feature wall and it's been drying for about 5 hours. I need you to talk to me so I don’t faceplant and start drooling onto my scope.” It’s been a long day already and now eight hours into his surveillance shift, Clint doesn’t think anyone would blame him for falling asleep. In fact, he’s pretty sure he heard snoring from over the comms, so it’s possible that no one would even notice if he fell asleep. 

Over the line, Coulson’s voice has already switched from commanding over to exasperated, “Clint-”

“I think we need to move on this guy now.”

“This is hardly appropriate to be discussing.” Coulson starts, but Clint continues to talk right over him. 

“He’s rearranging the furniture to fit. I should just take him down now and save us all time. He can barely lift the nightstand by himself. I feel embarrassed for him. Just let me do it. I’ve already planned 5 different escape routes.”

“Clint, I’m fairly certain with the amount of caffeine you consume during the briefing that you were awake enough to remember that this mission is strictly information gathering.” And there it is - Clint can hear the amusement start to slip into Coulson’s voice. This is exactly why he loves calling up Coulson on those nights he needs to stay awake. 

Clint grins, “I’ve got info. He has arms like spaghetti noodles and serious delusions of grandeur.”

“Those are rarely grounds for termination.”

“Can we make an exception just once?”

Coulson huffs a laugh. “No. You do not have authorization for action. Recon only.” 

“You really know how to suck the fun out of things, you know that, Sir?”

“I’ve been previously informed. Now stay awake. No shooting anyone. I’ll see what I can do about rousing the rest of your team.”

“This is why I like you the best, Sir “

 

4\. 2013

You wouldn’t know it, but Clint is awesome at making sandwiches. 

The key is to keep his hands busy. If he’s busy, he’s not getting sleepy right? Coulson’s apartment is full of food that’ll go bad otherwise, so he stays up making sandwiches. And making sandwiches is better than imagining where Coulson might be right now, probably getting shot at, because he’s a dumbass like that. 

Peanut butter and jelly. Check. Ham on rye. A little boring, but Clint can make a ton of these fast. Turkey club. They’re always a hit when Clint brings them around to the shelters the next day. 

He’s not normally this anxious, but it's only Coulson's third mission out since he’s recovered. And as much as Clint trusts Melinda, he'd much rather be watching Coulson’s back himself. However covert operations have gotten a lot more difficult since the Battle of New York and so he's stuck on the sidelines for this one. 

So Clint waits and he doesn't sleep. 

Five hours past when Coulson’s due back, Clint starts to get creative. Almond butter and BBQ Pringles on white bread. Mayo, cucumber and alfalfa sprouts on whole wheat. Sriracha peanut butter with crunchy noodles. Actually that one’s Natasha’s favourite even though she constantly denies it. 

When Coulson finally gets in the next day, he finds Clint in the middle of his apartment, sleeping on his latest sandwich creation, the jelly slowly oozing out of the sandwich and smearing onto Clint’s cheek. Coulson resists the urge to swipe a finger down his skin and lick, but only barely.

 

5\. 2016

The great thing about SHIELD is that they have showers. And not even just your typical sad locker room showers. Like super hot, massaging head, body spray showers that leave you all warm and tingling after. 

The terrible thing about SHIELD is that they expect you to use these showers after getting home from a weeklong mission in the Amazon and then sit and fill out paperwork without falling asleep. To make things worse, Coulson has this amazingly comfy couch in his office that you can just sink into and never come out again. 

Clint yawns again, feeling his ears pop and his jaw creak from the force of it. They got back earlier than expected, but that only adds to the problem because they make it in time for supper in the commissary and now he’s food-coma’d in addition to being warm and snuggly. He scratches out a few more sentences then pauses to rub his eyes. The lines are starting to waver on the paper. 

He glances up at Coulson, who looks as haggard as he feels, but Coulson has the advantage in that he hasn’t been sprinting around the compound for most of the night prior. 

Clint’s slowly sliding down lower and lower on the couch until his head is resting against the armrest. He’s long since slung his feet on to the couch, shoes off of course. Eyes closed, he’s trying to recall how many charges he set on the west corner when he feels the paperwork slide from his hands. With a jerk, he follows it, only to realize that it hadn’t fallen. 

Coulson pulls Clint’s file from his hand and adds it to the pile on his desk. He gently pushes Clint’s head back down on the armrest, running his fingers through Clint’s hair. Clint wants to lean into his hand, but he resists the urge just barely. “Why don’t you get some sleep first?”

“Mmmm sleep is so good.” Clint shakes his head vigorously. “Nope. Paperwork first. No lecture from Hill later.”

“Set an alarm.” Coulson suggests, “20 minute nap and then you can finish the paperwork. There’s no use filling out a sitrep if you're too exhausted to write straight.”

Clint doesn't have to be asked twice. He can pretty much sleep anywhere. Couches, desks, floor, on a keyboard, against a wall, if hard pressed maybe even standing up. Give him a five minute break and he is out. Clint smiles sleepily up at Coulson. “Sir, I knew you were my favourite for a reason.”

When he finally wakes up a few hours later, the room is dark, he’s got a blanket tucked up to his chin, and there’s a pile of completed paperwork on Coulson’s desk.

 

+1. 2017

Natasha has this knack for waking up Clint from a dead sleep, and her timing is no better this time. He groans in protest as his wristband vibrates again and flips over to fumble his hearing aids into his ears. 

“It's the middle of the night Tasha.”

She snorts. “When has that ever stopped you?”

“I was sleeping.” Clint flops back and snuggles into his sheets. “Sleeping is good.”

“Coulson’s out of medical.”

Clint bolts upright, “What?! Coulson was IN medical? What the hell happened? Wasn’t he on a training exercise?”

“One of the newbies got him I think. I don’t think he wanted us to find out.” Natasha replies. 

Clint laughs, “Oh he is never living this down. Please tell me there’s photographic evidence.”

“I’ve already made multiple copies and secured them.” 

Clint rolls out of bed and yanks on the first pair of pants that he can reach. “Where is he now?”

“Already back at his apartment pretending he isn’t licking his wounds.”

There’s a t-shirt hanging off his desk chair that looks clean enough. Clint pulls it over his head and scrubs his hands through his hair trying to straighten the worst of the cowlicks. “Ok, I’ll take tonight’s watch?”

“You’d better. I’m in Istanbul.” Natasha says. 

“Sure you are.” Clint replies. “How’d you find out about Coulson so fast?” 

“I have my ways.”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side Nattyboo.”

She sighs at the nickname, “You know I can still have you murdered from here.” 

“I don't doubt it.” Clint grins and blows her a kiss over the phone. “Have fun in Myanmar. Try not to piss off the locals.”

*

Coulson must be really off his game, because he looks surprised when he opens the door and Clint is on the other side. Clint can count on one hand the amount of times he’s caught Coulson off guard. But as soon as Coulson steps back, and squints as the light hits his eyes, Clint clues in. He scowls, “They let you out of medical with a concussion?”

“It’s mild.” Coulson smiles as disarmingly as possible at him. “Thank you for stopping over, but it’s really unnecessary.”

Clint snorts, because it’s been 15 years and Coulson still thinks that’s going to work. “On a scale from one to ten, how much does your brain want to leak out your ears?”

“A soft three. Ibuprofen works wonders for that sort of thing. Speaking of which, I should be taking my next dose.” Coulson slides his eyeline over to the doorway, but Clint blatantly ignores his cue to leave and walks past him into the kitchen.

“I’ll make you some food to take with it. Advil sucks to take on an empty stomach.” Clint says. Coulson can usually be relied on to have sandwich supplies on hand, and yup - a new loaf of whole wheat is sitting on the counter. Clint rummages around Coulson’s pantry and starts laying chips on one slice. “Want mayo on yours?”

“Just peanut butter is fine.” Coulson has given up trying to convince Clint to leave. Obviously this concussion has its perks because he doesn't usually give up so easily without a fight. And Clint knows his head is hurting more than he’s willing to admit, given the way Coulson is leaning up against the entrance watching him work. 

“Your loss.” Clint says, and pulls open the utensil drawer to find a knife. “So which newbie do I have to hunt down on Monday to take down a peg or two. I’ll bring them to the range for a couple of hours.”

“No need to defend my honour.” Coulson says. “It was an accident. Tsang’s elbows are sharper than they look.” 

“Well the way she flails them around, I'm not surprised you got hit.”

“I'll duck faster next time.”

“That's all I ask.” Clint put the finishing touches on the sandwiches and presented them to Coulson with a flourish. 

Coulson smiles softly at Clint. It makes his eyes crinkle up in the corners in the way that makes Clint all squishy inside. “Thank you Clint.”

The unexpected sincerity in Coulson’s voice has Clint blushing. He ducks his head, “I’m glad you’re ok, Sir.”

Coulson takes the plate that Clint’s holding out and sets it off to the side. Clearly telegraphing his actions, he tilts Clint’s chin up and places a light kiss on Clint’s mouth. 

Clint’s mouth instantly goes dry. It feels like he got punched in the stomach with the amount of adrenaline that’s suddenly pumping into his system. “Is this the concussion talking? Because not that I don't like it, but I want to make sure we’re on the same page here.”

“I can assure you it's not the concussion. I’m awake. I’m perfectly lucid. And I should have done this a long, long time ago.” He draws Clint in for another kiss, and this one Clint returns with much more enthusiasm. “Thank you for coming over tonight.”

Clint leaves his hands clasped around Coulson’s back, but leans back so he can mock glare at him. “Your timing could use some work. We have to get up for work in about two hours.”

Coulson chuckles, “Feel free to sleep. We’ve waited this long already, another day won't make a difference.”

Clint been waiting for this for years. He’s not about to let a little loss sleep stop him. “No definitely not. You can’t drop this bombshell on me and not expect me to follow up. We need to start catching up on lost time. Like now. Sleep later.” He starts tugging him towards the bedroom.

Coulson follows along willingly, “There's no rush. You know you can go to sleep. I'm not concussed enough to need waking every few hours”

“That may be so,” Clint grins, “But I'm not even the slightest bit tired.”


End file.
